


The Violence of Existing

by adjovi



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-08
Updated: 2018-08-08
Packaged: 2019-06-23 11:51:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15605679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adjovi/pseuds/adjovi
Summary: In the aftermath of the monster, Quentin felt like he was losing Eliot all over again. Margo intervenes because she is awesome.





	The Violence of Existing

The relief Quentin felt almost brought him to his knees. Finally and absolutely, the monster was gone and Eliot was miraculously _still_ there. He threw himself into Eliot’s arms, not caring that everyone was watching, holding on for dear life. It took his brain a few moments to realize the other man wasn’t returning the embrace, completely stiff in his arms, so cold that he gasped and pulled back. Eliot just stared at him, swallowing thickly, before turning away and walking out of the room. Quentin just stood there, eyes wide and breathless, numbly feeling Margo squeeze his arm once before following Eliot.

That had been five days ago. Five days of anesthetized grief, feeling his heart breaking over and over any time he saw him. Hard to avoid, they were sharing living spaces in the safe house that Kady had found for them. It was impossible not to resent the pitying looks she gave him, understanding what it was like to lose someone who was an arm’s length away. _It’s not the same thing._ He had made one other attempt to reach out, found him alone in the kitchen and took his hand. Eliot snatched it back, eyes flashing, leaving his heart on the floor. He hadn’t tried again.

The group was busy working on plans to free Alice and other Penny, _their_ Penny, from the Library. He had to force himself to even care, knowing it was probably better to throw himself into a task rather than dwelling, but he found this next to impossible. It was Margo, of course, who cornered him, calling him on his shit.

He had escaped to the little porch attached to the front of the house, seeking solitude where he could sulk without an audience. A storm was coming, the air was thick and humid and black clouds filled the sky.

Margo just barged right out the door, recklessly breaking his reverie. She hopped up on the railing across from where he was sitting. “You’re both such big fucking idiots, you know that?”

That…wasn’t exactly what he was expecting to hear. He shook his head in confusion. “ _Me_?”

She just shrugged. “You need to talk to him.”

“Margo, in case you haven’t noticed, he can’t even stand to be in the same room as me, let alone…”

She nodded, blowing out a long breath. “Yep. And yet.” She held out a hand, like it should be obvious.

He gaped up at her, anger warring with the ever present anguish in his chest. “Why does he hate me?”

She laughed, a small, mirthless chuckle, her voice laced with fucking sympathy. “Oh honey. He doesn’t hate you. This may come as a shock.” She regarded him sedately, tilting her head to the side. “Or, maybe not. But, he’s never actually been in love before. Not real love, not like this.” She shrugged again, kicking her crossed legs back and forth between the rails.

She wasn’t making any sense. None of this made any sense. “Then why…”

“He doesn’t think he deserves it. Deserves you.” She stilled her legs, looking at him sadly. “After what he did to you.”

Quentin exploded in anger. “Jesus fuck, that is the stupidest fucking thing!” He ran a hand through his hair, lamenting not for the first time that _Brian_ had cut it short.

“Yep. And, yet.” She smiled at him. “Tell me, Q, do you love him?” She knew he did. Everyone knew he did. His eyes felt hot and his throat felt thick, but he nodded, sliding his gaze to the ground. “Then you have to fight for him.”

He looked back at her. “Margo…”

She held her hands up. “I know. He’s gonna push you away. He’s an asshole. But, you gotta push back.” He was surprised when he saw her eyes start to shine with tears. “He’s broken, Q. And, I thought I could put him back together. I thought I was enough.” One tear slipped down her cheek, and she angrily swiped it away. “But, it’s not just me. It _has_ to be you, too.”

He stood then, walking over to her, tucking her head under his chin and letting her cling to him, feeling her silently crying a little before stopping with a sigh, twisting one hand into his t-shirt. “Ok.” An indelible bond had been formed between them when they thought they had lost Eliot forever. He nuzzled her hair with his nose, nodding, smelling her shampoo. “Ok.”

***

He looked for his opening over the next few days, but Eliot seemed to excel at evasion techniques.

Finally, a few days later, the opportunity presented itself. Well, actually, Margo kind of forced the situation, silently goading Julia to leave them alone in the room. When Eliot moved to follow, she pushed him down by his shoulders back to his place on the couch, kissing his temple. “For your own good.” Eliot just sat there, stunned, eyes open, staring at nothing.

Quentin felt his heart hammering in his chest, and knew if he tried speaking that his voice would shake. Instead he got up on unsteady feet, plucking a bottle of whiskey and two glasses, pouring healthy portions in each, downing his right away before refilling. He walked over to the couch, setting one glass in front of Eliot, sliding down a far ways away to sit on the other end. “So, here’s the thing.” He tried for nonchalance and was failing, given the wince Eliot made at the sound of his voice. “Margo thinks we’re both idiots, which, really, I don’t think is completely fair.”

“Q.” He sighed. “I’m going to stop you right there…"

“Nope.” He slammed his drink down, feeling the burn in his chest. “Because I have _Margo_ to answer to, and best friend or not, she scares the ever-living shit out of me.”

Eliot closed his eyes and gave a mirthless huff of a laugh, before sitting in silence for a good minute. “Just let it go.” His voice was completely flat.

Quentin was truly at a loss of what to do. All of his instincts were telling him to back away, that if he pushed he would only widen the gulf into a gaping maw. But, this was the first time Eliot had even _talked_ to him, giving him the tiniest flicker of hope. Plus, he had promised. Fuck it. “Do you love me?”

Eliot flinched as if slapped. “Don’t do this, Q.”

Quentin gentled his voice. “Do you?” Eliot moved to stand, and he reacted quickly, sliding over and stopping him by grabbing his arm, holding him down. “Quit running away from me.”

“Quentin.” Eliot wasn’t looking at him, the anguish clear in his voice.

He sighed, letting go of his arm but not moving away. “Eliot. I know that thing wasn’t you, ok. How could you think…”

“Jesus _Christ_ , Q. You have to keep pushing. Fuck!” He threw his head back on the couch, hitting the back harder than he probably intended. “You don’t understand.” He sounded destroyed.

“Then make me understand. _Please_. I need to understand.” He took a shaky breath.

Eliot stood then, pacing angrily in front of the couch, finally coming to a stop in front of him. “You want to understand? That _thing_ took pleasure in hurting you. I felt how happy it made It. _I_ felt happy, hurting you.”

Quentin felt something completely break apart in his chest, remembering the abject horror he had felt. The pain he felt now was so terrifying it almost broke him, knowing that the monster had made Eliot feel that way. That Eliot blamed himself for what _It_ had done, had forced him to do. “Eliot.”

“How can you even… _fuck_!” Eliot’s face twisted into a grimace, clearly disgusted.

He blew out a long breath, feeling his resolve forming. He stood then, walking over and wrapping his arms around Eliot’s waist, resting his head against his chest. Eliot stood immobile for a long moment, and he was _sure_ he was going to push him away, but then he brought his arms up, circling his shoulders, dropping his face into Quentin’s neck, breath hot against his skin. “Eliot,” he murmured into his chest, “do you want to hurt me now?”

Eliot immediately stiffened in his embrace, pulling back, completely affronted. “No! Of course not.”

“Ok, then.” Quentin just nodded and smiled at him, giving his waist one last squeeze before taking his hand and pulling him back down to the couch. Eliot went willingly, dropping beside him almost as if he wasn’t in control of his own limbs, leg right up against his own.

Unsure of where to go next, he just started talking, words spilling out like they did when he was nervous. “So, I’ve had a lot of time to think these last couple of months, and now I realize that maybe Margo’s right.” Eliot was very still beside him, but wasn’t actively trying to stop him, so he plunged ahead. “Apparently, we learned _nothing_ from the quest. Nothing.” He felt a sob in his throat, but he swallowed it down, angry that his voice shook a little, betraying him. “None of it even fucking mattered. And, we were just willing to walk away.” He shook his head again. “The ‘beauty of all life’, right?” He choked out a laugh. “It wasn’t the keys, or the fucking puzzle, or Fillory, or even magic. We spent a _lifetime_ learning that, and then, we just… _God_!”

Eliot was nodding beside him, and he could tell he was on the verge of breaking apart. “Yeah.” His voice sounded shredded.

He looked at him, willing him to understand. “I fell in _love_ with you, Eliot. We spent a lifetime together, we raised a child together. You _died_.” His voice was fully shaking now. “I _buried_ you, El. And, it fucking _broke_ me. I wasn’t…I won't survive losing you again.” He took a deep steadying breath, gaining control again, reaching over and twining his fingers with Eliot’s.

"I'm sorry." He gave Quentin's fingers a small squeeze.

"No. You have nothing to be sorry for." He allowed the silence to sit between them for a few moments, lost in his thoughts. He knew his own messed up childhood didn't hold a candle to Eliot's. To be reminded repeatedly that he was _wrong_ , that he wasn't worthy. It was no small wonder. “You know you deserve to be loved, right?”

Eliot did break down then, taking sobbing little breaths, closing his eyes against the onslaught of feelings. “Jesus, Q.” He was licking the corner of his lip, taking deep breaths in, trying not to cry.

Quentin reached over then and cupped his face, running his thumb slowly over his chin. “Because I love you, El. So, so much.”

Eliot turned to face him, reaching up and pulling his hand to his mouth, kissing the palm. “I don’t deserve you.” His voice was barely a whisper.

Quentin swallowed thickly, running his hand to the back of Eliot’s neck, pulling their foreheads together. “Well, you’re stuck with me, so.”

Eliot covered the hand on his neck with his own. He flicked his eyes up to meet Quentin’s. “Lucky me,” he said affectionately.

He knew neither of them were very comfortable around emotional declarations of any kind, so he quickly steered towards the safer shores of humor. “I mean, you know we’re going to fuck shit up, right?” He looked at Eliot, who had a somewhat startled yet amused expression on his face. “What? We are. And, we’re gonna fight. And, be torn apart.” He licked his lips. “But, we’ll always find each other. Because I know now that I can’t do any of this without you.”

Eliot nodded somewhat awkwardly against him. “Yeah. Yes.” He reached over to Quentin now, cupping his jaw, resting his thumb on the corner of his mouth. “To be clear, I love you, too.”

Quentin smiled softly. “You better, dumbass.”

Eliot rolled his eyes fondly before moving the rest of the way towards him, pulling him into a kiss. Quentin poured every goddamned emotion he had been carrying around with him the last few months into Eliot. All of the sorrow and anger. And, above all else, love. He pulled Eliot closer, wanting to possess him fully. When they finally ran out of breath, they pulled apart, panting and staring wide-eyed.

“So. We good?” He studied Eliot now, for the first time granted the permission to do so, and from what he saw, he knew that Eliot was pretty fucking far away from good. It would take him a long time to get back to good, if ever. But, that was ok. Because he could lean on Quentin now.

He grinned softly at him, and Quentin felt real warmth spread through his chest in what seemed like the first time since forever, seeing the smile went all the way up to his eyes. “Getting there.” It was good enough.

**Author's Note:**

> Title from lyrics from Sarah McLachlan's "Do What You Have To Do".
> 
> I guess my prediction for S4 is that there will be a lot of messy emotions surrounding getting Eliot back, bringing out my innermost angsty monster. 
> 
> Thanks for any comments or kudos! 
> 
> And, a special thanks to sullyandlulu for looking this over and nudging me to post! :)


End file.
